His Housekeeper's Christmas Wish by Louise Allen Read Free Book Online

cosily beside the fire with your brandy and books. You would be out visiting your in-laws.’
    ‘So you imagine that if I were to be married I would live under the cat’s foot, do you?’ The relaxed, rather quizzical smile was back again.
    ‘Not at all. But visits to relatives are what happens in families.’
    ‘I wouldn’t know. I am out of practice with them.’
    ‘That is a shame.’ She dreamed about being part of a family, a real family, even if there would be bickering about whose turn it was to entertain the awkward relatives for the holiday season. It was a long time since she had experienced a Christmas like the ones she had enthused about in the carriage. A long time since she had known a family, and this man had that gift and was apparently happy to throw it away.
    ‘A shame? Not at all.’ Alex moved away as the landlord, followed by a maid, started to bring in their dinner. ‘It is freedom.’
    They said no more until they were alone again. Tess ladled soup into bowls while Alex shredded roast chicken into a saucer and put it down for the kitten. ‘There you are. Now leave my boots alone. What are you going to call him?’
    So I’m going to have to keep him, am I? Trust Alex to give me a kitten, not a bonnet.
‘Noel,’ she decided, adding a saucer of milk beside the chicken. ‘Because he is a Christmas present.’
    ‘You really are an exceedingly sentimental young woman.’ Alex passed her the bread rolls. ‘Butter?’
    ‘Thank you. And I am not sentimental, it is you who are cynical.’
    ‘Why, yes, I cry guilty to that. But what is wrong with a little healthy cynicism?’
    ‘Isn’t it lonely?’ Tess ventured. It was ridiculous, this instinct to hug a large, confident male. Perhaps that was how lust seized you, creeping up, pretending to be some sort of misguided, and unwanted, compassion.
    ‘What, forgoing gloomy evergreen swags, tuneless carol singers, bickering relatives and enforced jollity? I will enjoy a period of quiet tranquillity and then my friends return to town eager for company.’
    Tess set her empty soup bowl to one side and waited in silence while Alex carved the capon. There was something very wrong within his family, obviously, if he did not give his mother and sisters presents and he preferred solitude in London to a festive reunion. She bit her lip and told herself not to probe. The atmosphere of plain speaking between the nuns that prevailed in the convent was not, she suspected, good training for polite conversation in society.
    Alex passed her a plate of meat and she reciprocated with the vegetables, racking her brains for what might be suitable small talk. ‘I do not remember London at all well.’
Or at all.
‘Is your house in Mayfair?’ That was the most fashionable area, she knew.
    ‘Yes, in Half Moon Street, off Piccadilly. Just a small place because I travel so much.’
    That appeared to have exhausted that topic. ‘Your valet does not travel with you?’
    ‘I sent him on ahead, along with my secretary and several carriages full of artworks. It was a most successful trip this time.’
    Tess thought she detected a modest air of self-congratulation. Was that simply the pleasure at a successful chase or was Alex reliant on the income from his dealing? It seemed a precarious existence for a viscount. Maybe he could not afford lavish celebrations and entertainment at Christmas, she pondered, in which case she had been unforgivably tactless to have pressed him about it. Although he certainly seemed to spend money on his comforts without sign of stinting. Perhaps that was an essential facade, or he ran up large debts.
    ‘Have I dropped gravy on my neckcloth?’ he enquired, making her jump. ‘Only you have been staring at it for quite a while.’
    ‘I was thinking that your linen is immaculately kept,’ Tess admitted. ‘Your neckcloths and your shirts.’
    Alex choked on a mouthful of wine. ‘Do you always say what you think?’
    ‘Certainly not. Should I